


something becoming more than whole

by snsk



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, bookseller Phil, different careers AU, fjkhksd this was very cathartic to write actually thank you for making my Christmas queerofcups, mostly self discovery, screenwriter Dan, self discovery, think of Phil as a very mortal Aziraphale perhaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snsk/pseuds/snsk
Summary: “I could use soup,” Phil said, moving away towards his coat.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 37
Kudos: 65
Collections: Phandom Fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerofcups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/gifts).



> Merry Christmas queerofcups! this was a Big Deal because you are a Big Deal and I am in Awe of you and I really do not want you to hate it. I filled the prompt where you requested different careers, but I've also allowed myself creative freedom with the rest of your prompts......... x
> 
> (tqvvvvm for the quick beta C! I know I was not on Time.)

_“What is the word for something becoming_

_more than whole? What is the word for a bird,_

_already stunning in its sitting form,_

_then opening its wings_

_And the watcher loses their breath?”_

– Olivia Coleman, _Ode to My Lover’s Left Hand_

* * *

INT. BAR - DAY

FREYA and HARRY are at the bar. Freya is listlessly wiping at the rims of glasses while Harry is staring into space.

HARRY

(abruptly)

I think something’s wrong with Arvind.

FREYA

What? He seems fine.

HARRY

You don’t know him like I do.

FREYA

Maybe he just hates you.

HARRY

I hate you.

KYLE comes rushing in frantically.

KYLE

Guys.

FREYA

(to Harry)

It’s not my fault you refuse to accept the truth!

KYLE

Guys!

HARRY

Shut up, Freya, you don’t know anything!

FREYA

I know he hates you!

HARRY

 _I’m going to_ –

KYLE

 _Guys_!

Harry and Freya look at Kyle.

FREYA

Yeah, alright, don’t shout.

HARRY

Yeah, calm down, Kyle. What is it?

KYLE

(pause)

Arvind’s left again.

* * *

Dan squinted at the page. “Yeah, that’s not right,” he muttered. He stretched and yawned; several of his joints cracked ominously. The page taunted him, swimming before his eyes: he’d spent an hour on it and it still didn’t look close to something that would ever see the light of day.

“I’m going to sleep,” Dan told his laptop and Rogerina.

Rogerina, his Echeveria elegans succulent, did not say anything. She sat plumply and cheerily in her pot on the windowsill, which was somehow very comforting in its own way.

Dan shut his Macbook down and walked to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and flossed responsibly. He washed his face and walked back to his bed, wondering why Arvind had left this time.

“Goodnight, Rogerina,” he said sleepily.

Rogerina didn’t say anything, only sat in her pot on the windowsill and watched either him or the moon, Dan couldn’t tell. He fell asleep wondering.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The Lore was a bookshop Dan frequented daily because of two things:

  1. Inspiration
  2. Phil Lester



Which, to be perfectly honest, was kind of the same thing. The bell tinkled daintily and Phil looked up, bathed in the morning sunlight. He saw Dan and his face creased up into the smile that Dan spent most of his time in The Lore trying to coax out. 

“Dan!” he said, like his name was a gift. 

“Good morning, Lester,” Dan said. “I got your coffee.”

Phil took it, fingers warm against Dan’s before he brought it to his mouth and took a slow considering sip. “Pumpkin spice,” he said approvingly. “You’re a beautiful person.”

“I know,” Dan said agreeably. 

“I’m going to give you fifty free books,” Phil said, more to his coffee than to Dan.

“And I’m going to give you two some time alone,” Dan informed him, laughing, stepping backwards, Phil waving him off. The Lore was cosy in a cramped, creaky beloved way, and Dan headed to the back where his pile of books awaited him. He was reading Circe now, and he lost himself in twenty pages or so of Miller’s poetic prose before his alarm blared.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, sighing deeply. He put the book back on top of the pile. While Dan never actually bought any of the books here, being unable to on a starving artist’s salary, Phil never put them back on the shelves as long as they were in the pile, and he never sold them off. Dan supposed it was an unfair privilege of being Phil’s friend and coffee-nourisher. Dan didn’t really care.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he repeated at Phil, who looked confused. 

“You’ve only been here half an hour.”

Something warm spread in Dan’s chest at this, but he was nonchalant (the king! In fact! Of nonchalance) when he said, “I’ve got that thing for Enemies.”

“I really hope you don’t talk about it in that tone when you’re there.”

Dan shrugged the last of his jacket on. “It’s just so soulless. No-one cares about it! We’re just churning out mindless media– I’m contributing to zombie culture– I should be _really_ contributing, you know. I’ll die before I know it and my only contribution will be Enemies to Chefs, you know.”

Phil smiled very gently at him. “I do know.” Dan had been complaining about it since day one. “But I also know that while one day you’ll be this generation’s Shakespeare, this month you’ve got to make rent. Shoo now,” he added, turning back to the register, so the last thing Dan saw before he stepped out was the edge of his smile and the slightly slouched curve of his back.

* * *

INT. OXFORD ST. – DAY

LIN and ANNA are screaming at each other. The clock is ticking down to their final 20 minutes. They are flushed and sweaty, frantically trying to finish their dish.

LIN

This was a mistake!

ANNA

(desperately)

We can still salvage it!

Anna quickly pours the prawns and salmon to the stew and turns the heat down to a simmer. She draws her hand back and hisses – in her hurry, her skin has touched the saucepan.

LIN

Can you be more careful?

ANNA

Shut up, will you? I’m trying to concentrate!

LIN

This is what I mean– you don’t communicate with me, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do now! You’ve always been like this!

ANNA

Okay, okay, are the spring onions ready?

LIN

The what?

ANNA

Lin, I told you to– you never listen to me! Look, just chop them, like that, hurry up!

Lin starts chopping the onions. Anna stirs the broth, adding the lime juice and herbs. 

LIN

That’s why we stopped talking, you know.

ANNA

We don’t have time for this.

Lin finishes with the spring onions and drops them into the saucepan. CLOSE ON the steam rising from the saucepan, the prawns, fish and onions, and the light brown broth bubbling away.

LIN (V.O.)

When this is over, we’re going back to never being friends. 

CLOSE ON Anna’s face. She looks upset.

LIN

I don’t know why I thought this would help.

* * *

Enemies to Chefs, pitched by Dan as a joke to Terri after his four previous ideas had been met with a frown and a ‘Hmm,” and subsequently picked up by the network-that-must-not-be-named, was the bane of Dan’s life.

The conversation had gone something like this:

Terri: Do you have anything else for me?

Dan: No. I mean, yeah, sure.

Terri: [expectant stare]

Dan: ...a cooking show.

Dan: Mostly scripted.

Dan: About lifelong enemies who come together.

Dan: To cook one perfect meal.

Dan: On a float.

Dan: Through the streets of London.

Dan, laughing at the absurdity of it all: Yep, that’s it.

Terri:

Terri: That’s fantastic.

Walking home after a successful script of Episode 4 of Enemies to Chefs, Dan felt the sudden urge to talk to Phil, who would know what to say to make Dan feel better about how no Oscar-winning screenwriter had ever had a past in really really bad reality TV. Phil didn’t answer the call, but did text Dan a few minutes later:

_Sorry! Out with Nate now. Are you alright? I’ll call you later_

Sometimes Dan forgot Nate existed, that Phil didn’t always live in the bookshop surrounded by sunlight hitting the dust motes, surrounded by the warmth and scent of coffee, surrounded by the words Dan loved. 

_oh no yeah fine! must’ve been a buttdial_

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

That weekend Dan went home. His dad was away on a business trip, something Dan pretended he hadn’t heard from Adrian – who was somewhere in some far off mountains, who knew where but good for him – but his grandmother and his mum were home. Mum, never one for baking but always one for diving into whatever new project hit her fancy that weekend, was elbow-deep in flour. Gran was sunning herself slightly in the yard out the back, book in hand.

“Whatcha reading, Gran?” he asked, after he’d kissed Mum on the cheek and she’d shooed him away to deal with her flour.

“Northanger Abbey,” she said, putting it down on her lap. “How are you, dear?”

“Not writing anything worth any value,” Dan said gloomily.

She tsked. “You need to worry less about that.”

“I’d worry less if what I was writing now wasn’t like, negative value, Gran. Like it’s sucking value out of other things, that’s how bad it is.”

“I’ll watch it anyway,” Gran said easily, reaching for her glass of lemonade. 

He sighed. “Please don’t, Gran,” he said. “You’d be embarrassed.”

Mum came into the yard, flour-less and Colin-ful, tipping him into Dan’s arms. 

“How’d you know I needed him?” Colin wriggled happily in Dan’s arms, and Dan cooed at him. “How’d she know, Colin? That you’re the best dog that ever walked this earth?” 

Rogerina was very good company but she wasn’t _dog_ company, and Dan’s landlord didn’t allow pets. He thought very fleetingly of the fact that Phil’s flat was pet-friendly, and firmly pushed that thought far back to where it’d come from.

Mum said, “You always need Colin.” Dan suddenly loved her very much in that moment, flaws and all; he’d only been back a few times since he’d come out to them through email. They’d come up to London soon after that, Gran and Mum and Adrian, a trip he dearly appreciated. Granddad had Skyped. His dad hadn’t come.

* * *

FADE IN:

EXT. GRASSY HILL – SUNRISE

JOGGER #1 and JOGGER #2 sit side-by-side on the top of the hill, panting slightly.

JOGGER #1

We have to stop meeting like this.

JOGGER #2

(laughs)

But it’s just so romantic.

Ever so slightly, Jogger #2’s hand shifts across the grass, brushing slightly against Jogger #1’s.

JOGGER #1 doesn’t move. CLOSE ON his face: he looks scared.

JOGGER #2’s fingers close around JOGGER #1’s. JOGGER #1 jerks away.

JOGGER #1

(panicked)

What are you– what–

JOGGER #2

I’m sorry! I just thought maybe we–

JOGGER #1

I’m straight!

JOGGER #2

(placatingly)

Okay!

JOGGER #1

I’m straight, of course I’m straight! Wait, do you not think I’m straight?

* * *

“Do you think,” Phil asked musingly, leaning against the bookcase with his legs spread out before him, “there’s a person out there for everyone?”

“You mean like a soulmate?” Dan asked. His back was starting to hurt, he’d been here for two hours and Phil had only been free for the last fifteen minutes. He hadn’t been waiting, but he’d finished the book an hour ago and been re-reading sections since. He hadn’t been waiting, though.

“Like a soulmate,” Phil agreed, picking up Bridge of Clay. He wasn’t looking at Dan. 

“Hm,” Dan said. “No.”

Phil laughed, a surprised-sounding huff. “That’s not very romantic of you.”

“You know what’s romantic?” Dan asked him. It was dark outside already, days lately speeding up like a countdown. The Lore’s golden lamplight faded out Phil’s laugh-lines, the darkness below his eyes, but Dan could still see them, the little signs of exhaustion and aging, and he thought they were beautiful. “I think free will to love is romantic. I think even if I had a soulmate, if I fell in love with someone and made a choice to be with them, I’d keep being with them. I’d keep making that choice everyday.”

“Ah,” Phil said after a while. “Hm.” Which didn’t make much sense, or contribute much to the conversation. He had his head bowed again. 

“Hmm,” Dan repeated. This made Phil giggle and lean against Dan’s shoulder slightly. Dan fought hard to think of Nate. 

They sat in silence.

“If I had a fish I’d name it Norman,” Phil offered, after a while, like an out, and Dan took it.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

On the day Dan had met Phil it had been raining. Dan remembered this because he had taken refuge in the bookstore with the green door, wet and panting and still feeling the cold wind sharp across his face.

“You’re dripping all over my books,” the guy sitting behind the counter pointed out. 

“Oh,” Dan said, “Sorry.” He darted a look at the storm outside and figured he probably had about ten minutes to the next tube. Maybe he’d stop by the cafe down the block. 

“Phil!” said another guy, who’d appeared from the back.

“I was joking!” the guy whose name was apparently Phil said, stricken-looking as he hurried out from behind the counter. “You can stay, of course you should stay. Let me help with your coat!” He practically pulled it off Dan, who was too damp to say anything much in protest. When he finally shrugged the last of it off he was faced with Phil, whose hair was dark and whose eyes were a limpid blue and who was holding Dan’s dripping coat, getting his own sweater wet in the process.

“Hi,” Dan breathed. “I’m Dan.”

“Hi,” Phil said, mouth curving up. “I’m Phil.”

“Hi, I’m Martyn,” the second guy said, sounding like he was on the verge of laughter. “Wanna get that dried and Dan into some warm clothes?”

By the time Dan had struggled on a shirt, plaid red and apparently belonging to Phil, he’d learned that

  1. The bookstore was new,
  2. called The Lore,
  3. and belonged to Phil and Martyn,
  4. who came from Manchester
  5. and were brothers.



“Are you warmed up yet?” Phil asked anxiously, suddenly right in front of him again. Dan could barely make his face out through the steam of warmth rising from the mug he was holding. 

“He’s just worried you’ll sue us if you contract hypothermia,” Martyn said.

Dan accepted the blue mug (it read I Like Big Books And I Cannot Lie). Phil smiled at him. “I pinky promise I won’t sue. Thank you, though,” he said, and meant it. “Honestly I just needed some shelter, this is way too kind.”

Martyn said, “We’re just over-excited about new customers. They’ll return for the hospitality, you see.”

“That was a hint,” Phil suggested, leaning against the counter. “Now you’ve got to buy a book a day because you feel like you owe us for life. That’s like the Lester strategy.”

“It’s working,” Dan said. “I’m going to pick up the first one right now.” He selected a book at random. It appeared to be The First Timer’s Travel Guide To Phuket. 

That was the first and only book he’d ever bought from them, so the Lester Strategy didn’t seem to be working all that well, actually.

  
  


“Hey, you know what?” Charlie said, her eyes wide.

“Hm?” 

It was Lunch Break. On their official Lunch Breaks, Dan and Charlie stayed in the room making paper airplanes, throwing them at each other, and complaining about the script. On their unofficial lunch break, taken an hour later when the producers and editors were arguing about little things in the Enemies script they didn’t really care about, they ate lunch at the Turkish place across the street. 

“I mean– Dan, I’m a screenwriter.”

“I know you are, Charlie,” Dan said, stretching out in his swivelly chair. He swivelled once, twice for the fun of it, and threw a tiny airplane crafted from a Post-it at her. She caught it. “That’s why they hired you.”

“No, but Dan,” Charlie said, stretching her hand over the conference table. She took Dan’s phone out of his hand and stared at him even more earnestly. “I’m a writer. I wasn’t, before this. I know you were, but I wasn’t! And now I’ve got my own real life series–”

She noted Dan’s slight head tilt.

“–and I know it’s a crappy silly one, but it’s mine. It’s like the foot in the door thing. You know? The door’s open.”

Dan thought about this. “Yeah, Charlie,” he said, grinning at her. “I know.”

Four years ago that had been him, bubbly with that excitement, fresh with the knowledge that he was in it, going to win it, this had been it, his first real whatever. Now he felt stagnant. Like still water. Like a carbonated drink, bubbles all fizzed out.

* * *

INT. CHAPEL – DAY

THE BRIDE, MARJORIE, is standing at the altar, waiting. The GUESTS crane their heads expectantly to wait for the GROOM, YI KANG.

CLOSE IN on Marjorie’s face: she’s expectant but worried, as if she’s been waiting too long. PAN TO the BEST MAN checking his watch. ANGLE ON Yi Kang running up the aisle. He reaches Marjorie and takes her hands.

MARJORIE

Finally. Let’s just–

YI KANG

I had to tell you.

MARJORIE

What?

YI KANG

I can’t… I can’t do this.

Collective GASP from the guests assembled.

MARJORIE

What?

YI KANG

Even if you’re supposed to be my soulmate, Marj, I can’t do this. Doesn’t what I want mean something? 

MARJORIE

(incredulous)

Of course not! Nothing we want means anything!

* * *

Dan stopped by The Lore a lot after work. Sometimes he stopped by with dinner and sometimes he dragged Phil out to dinner. Today it was a cloudy day and getting dark already; he was thinking something soup-y and stew-y when he opened the green door. He was thinking maybe he and Phil could share a slice of strawberry cheesecake.

Phil was at the counter, head bowed, and he didn’t look up when he heard Dan. The door was unlocked but most people didn’t ignore the SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED :( sign; usually Phil looked up, beaming, and Dan’s heart flipped over.

“Lester,” he sang softly. “Hey. Let’s get some soup, are you feeling like soup?”

Phil looked up and tried to smile. Even in the soft light Dan could see his eyes were red-rimmed. “Phil?” he asked, moving closer. He went behind the counter. He spent a lot of time here some days. Sometimes he helped handle the transactions but mostly he shared space with Phil, reading or talking or just existing side by side, humming a song from the 80s. “Phil, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Phil said eventually, his voice thick. “Just– can we not talk for a while?” When Dan nodded he leaned his cheek on Dan’s shoulder, smelling like the mango shampoo he used. They didn’t talk for a while. 

Dan thought of the two years he’d known Phil Lester and the many words he’d continue to keep inside if it meant Phil could stay in his life.

Then Dan’s stomach rumbled, and Phil sniffled and giggled, still rough, but real. “Hungry?”

“I could use soup,” Phil said, moving away towards his coat. Dan touched the spot on his sweater where Phil’s head had rested. It was slightly damp. Then he walked towards the door and reached for his scarf.

“I broke up with Nate,” Phil offered, not looking at him, but at the buttons of his coat he was intently doing up.

Dan’s mind supplied, in Courier New:

(beat)

“...Oh,” Dan said. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” Phil said, opening the door.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

They had soup at Lok Tien’s, clear steaming noodle soup with wontons. Dan’s head was buzzing. They weren’t talking much, when before Phil would have made attempts at his chopsticks and Dan would have made a show of his embarrassment. They would’ve been laughing. Now Phil studiously poked at his food with the fork and spoon he’d requested, and Dan sneaked looks every now and again.

“I’m fine, you know,” Phil said, the eighth time Dan looked over surreptitiously. He quirked a brow at Dan. “I– it was a long time coming.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dan asked.

“Not really,” Phil said. “Well. Not with you.”

Dan looked down at his noodles and tried very hard not to let the hurt show on his face. Phil didn’t– he was hurt. He just didn’t want to talk about it with Dan _tonight._ They were friends. They saw each other almost every day. It had almost been… 

Or this had all been in Dan’s head, and he’d just been hanging around The Lore like an _fool–_

“Dan,” Phil said. “Hey, look.” He reached halfway across the table, his fingers slightly curled as if he’d been thinking about holding onto Dan but had paused. “Look at me, please?”

“Yeah,” Dan said, looking up. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk, really, I’m just being–”

“No,” Phil interrupted. “No, stop that. It’s not what your head is making it out to be.” He stopped, looked out the window into the streetlight-washed road, looked back again right at Dan. “Dan, you know what it is.”

Hope, sneaky and small, unfurled itself and awoke in Dan’s chest, hungry as an animal.

“And I can’t talk about it with you,” Phil continued, still looking very tired. “Not now, please?”

“Okay,” Dan said.

* * *

INT. FOREST – DUSK

JEN and JIA WEI are running hand in hand through the forest, dodging black, spiky branches. JIA WEI is slightly ahead: she seems to be leading the way. They come across a special tree, faintly lit, green leaves looking like they’re glowing in the dusk…

JEN: Don’t touch it!

JIA WEI: It’s so pretty, look.

JIA WEI reaches up to touch one of the softly glowing leaves. CLOSE ON the tip of her finger making contact. 

A shower of yellow dust falls in a fine rain all around them…

They look at each other. Something has changed.

* * *

Outside the restaurant the night seemed too quiet for so early in the night. It was probably because Dan’s senses were focused on Phil, the little sigh he made as the cold air hit them, the way he ran his hand through his hair. They stood under the streetlight. 

“Goodnight, Dan,” Phil said, looking lit up and like everything Dan had ever wanted and could now maybe maybe maybe have.

“Goodnight Phil,” Dan said quietly.

Phil looked up at the streetlight very long and focusedly, even though it must have hurt, like he was reading tea leaves and he could see his future in them. “I think…” he said. “I think I need some time.”

Immediately Dan worried if he’d done something.

“You haven’t done anything.” Phil was smiling. “But Nate meant something to me, and I need some time to grieve him. And I need some time for myself, and I think–”

Phil’s fingers, when they met Dan’s cheek, were firm and wonderful and quite cold. Dan flinched inadvertently and hated himself for it; he’d want Phil’s touch even if Phil was a snowman. He reached for Phil’s hand and put it back.

“–I think you need some time for yourself too,” Phil finished. “Don’t you?”

Phil, like Dan’s guiding star, like Dan’s next stage direction, was right. They stood there, too close under the lamplight, until it was time to go home.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Early that next morning Dan rose, sat in his unmade bed and watched the sun yawn its way along the sky. He said, “Good morning, Rogerina.”

Rogerina sat sturdily back. 

Dan hmm’ed at her and got to work starting his day. He had a meeting with Charlie and the producers about Ep 5. His footsteps didn’t falter as he passed The Lore, but he did text Phil:  _ have a good day _ . He swung into the conference room and held his hand, palm up, for Charlie.

“What?” she asked, eyes narrowed. 

“High five me,” he said. “Come on!”

“What is going on, Howell,” she said, still suspicious, but she reached over and slapped her palm against his. 

“See?” he said. “It’s going to be a great day.” 

It was. Charlie and Dan got to work with the script early– when the producers filed in, they made some noise about the lack of drama. “These people are people,” Charlie told them indignantly. 

“Not actors,” Dan said. “They actually have relationships with each other! And if we want to script it up sure, but even from a television perspective– audiences love fighting, sure, but you have to make them invested first, otherwise it’s just people they don’t care about fighting.”

“We think it would be better if they spent a lot more time talking to each other, establishing the relationship they used to have first,” Charlie said.

“Establishing their relationship,” one of the producers said very slowly, like he was testing out this new concept. They all looked at each other, and hmm’ed and haww’ed. Then they all started making a bunch of phone calls. Dan and Charlie didn’t have get to have an unofficial lunch at Effes that day, and there was a lot more shouting and arguing that they participated in, but they looked at each other at the end of the day after everyone had gone and decided wordlessly it was worth it. They had dinner together to make up for lunch.

Because they ate sushi that night, he didn’t take his usual route past The Lore. At night he checked his texts and Phil had sent:  _ I hope you did too Dan x _

* * *

On Tuesday there wasn’t a meeting, and usually on those days he’d swing by and spend the day with Phil. Instead he called Bry on a whim, who sounded honestly worried when she answered. 

“I’m fine!” Dan assured her.

“Why are you calling?” she demanded.

“I wanted to hang out?” Dan said, ending it on a question. He tried to recall the last time he’d called Bry just to hang out and realised, uncomfortably, that it had been way too long. He’d been– well, he’d been with Phil.

Bry, never one to just leave it at that, said flatly: “Well, it’s been months since you initiated any sort of contact, and you were always busy when I wanted to hang out, so.”

“Bry,” he said, “I’m sorry. I really am. And to make it up to you I’ll get you the blueberry muffin from Sando’s you like.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Two,” he pleaded.

“What, did Phil dump you or something?” Bry asked shortly.

Dan took a breath. “Okay, I deserved that,” he said. When he got caught up in things he got caught up in things, and Phil was a thing… Phil was a Thing. Phil was a for-life Thing. But it didn’t mean other things in his life didn’t exist. It didn’t mean he hadn’t been an arse.

Bry said, “Three. And a caramel latte.”

At Sando’s he begged for forgiveness and Bry held out for a full ten minutes before she whacked him on the shoulder with her purse and said, “Am I not your friend?”

“There were other things too!” he said defensively. “I’ve– it’s been a slump, and I haven’t really wanted to talk to anyone really…” 

She hit him again. “That’s what friends are for, numbnuts,” she said. “You will talk about this.”

And at night he answered Phil’s  _ What did you do today?  _ With a  _ hung out with bry!! it was great she used her purse as a weapon a lot _

_ I’d like to meet her, she sounds great x _

* * *

On Wednesday he had an Enemies meeting that ended early; he came back full of pide to Rogerina in the afternoon and said, “You ready for some action?” 

Rogerina soaked in the sunlight supportively.

“Alright,” Dan said. “Let’s get back to our roots, let’s…”

The first time he’d ever felt like he’d truly wanted to do something, he had been fifteen and snuck into a late night staging of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. By the time Maggie promised to make the lie true Dan had realised two things that would change his life:

  1. His too-close-to-comfort sympathy for Brick’s repressed sexuality, and
  2. he wanted to rewrite the ending.



When he read the play it hit him all over again, and he mimicked the style as carefully as he could, typing out a draft that ended with Skipper surviving and the baby being raised in a complicated, layered, loving family. It was out-of-character and fairly unbelievable, as far as fanfiction went, but Dan shut down his school computer feeling rather good about life.

Screenwriting turned out to be marginally more profitable, so Dan went into that. Commercials were neverending, as were ridiculously dramatic (partially-scripted, but nobody needed to know) reality shows. But there was something about the messy spill of emotion on a darkly-lit stage that Dan missed. 

* * *

ACT ONE

As the curtain rises a young boy, dressed in purple overalls, is playing with his doll in the grass

* * *

“Huh,” Dan said. The screen stayed blank a long while after.

_ i’m going home tmr _

_ I’ll be here when you get back :) _

And then, a bit later:

_ Tell me when your train arrives, I’ll meet you at the station _

“I guess I’m going home, Rogerina,” he told her. She was bathing in the moonlight, looking terribly serene.

* * *

On Thursday he went home. Adrian met him at the station with the Civic, which was surprising. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, hugging his brother. Adrian smelled like something freshly baked, which must have been Mum, and some new cologne, which Dan didn’t recognise.

“I’m back for break,” Adrian said, being deliberately obtuse.

Dan knew it was probably for moral support, in Adrian’s quiet, dismissive way. This was the first time he and their dad would be meeting, since Dan’s whole big Coming Out By Email, and his dad’s whole Why Do You Need To Make It Such A Big Deal, which devolved into a whole I’m Just Saying Why Is It Something That Needs To Be So Announced, By The Way What Are You Doing With Your Career Now Anyway, generally unsupportive vibes thing. Adrian didn’t talk to Dan much when they were apart, and sometimes Dan was sad that they might very probably never be close the way Phil and Martyn were, but this was the best of Adrian in the best of ways.

On the ride home, driving through the steadily darkening roads, Dan said: “How’s uni?”

“Good, boring,” Adrian said, informatively, and that was also very him. That was all they said to each other until they pulled up in the driveway, and Dan got out and Mum greeted them at the front door. She hugged Dan and said, “Dinner’s almost done,” and Dan got the cutlery out and Adrian cleared the table, just like old times. It was broccoli and potatoes for Adrian and roast chicken for the rest. 

“Call your Dad, please,” Mum said to Adrian. They exchanged a look, and Adrian left. Dad came down from a nap just before they started. He saw Dan, started, and recovered.

“You didn’t say you were coming,” he said.

“It was an impromptu thing,” said Dan, feeling suddenly very young again. They hugged, awkward and one-armed, let go, and Dad drew a chair out. Then it was small talk around the table for the rest of the meal. Adrian offered up a bit more information on his latest assignment and Mum asked everyone’s opinions on the food. Things seemed like things had been for years.

“So what are your plans for the coming year, Dan?” Dad asked, and the atmosphere grew very tense, all of a sudden.

“Nothing big,” said Dan, nonchalant. “Might start writing for the stage again.”

“Which I think is lovely,” Mum said quickly. 

There was a pause in which everyone seemed to be waiting for Dad to speak, and Mum seemed to be looking at him rather intently. 

“The last time you came up Dan, I wasn’t– you didn’t catch me in the best of tempers,” Dad said finally. “A lot of the things I said, I said them rather hastily, right? I didn’t mean a lot of it.”

Dan realised this was the closest thing to an apology he was getting. He was tempted to leave it at that– it was how they did things in the Howell household to smooth things over. He thought of the blank page and of going back to Phil a better man for Phil.

“It hurt me very deeply,” he said, finally. “I understand it’s not a big deal to you, Dad, but it was for me. It’s something that’s important to me because I struggled my whole life with it and you said, is this necessary? Like it was a shameful secret. That hurt me. You hurt me.”

His dad looked much like he was struggling with the urge to say, Well let’s just leave it at that, it’s all water under the bridge now isn’t it? His face was a dull red and his throat worked, and Dan readied himself to expect it. Instead he said, each word slow and unfamiliar: “I want you to know I’m proud of you.”

“Oh,” Dan said, genuinely surprised. “Thanks.” Mum, who had been focusing intently on the broccoli, looked up at him and smiled. 

“Pudding?” she asked.

After, Gran drove up to give them turkey leftovers. On the porch they stood, breaths making little puffs of white in the night. 

“He behaving himself?” she asked, nodding towards the closed door.

“Yes,” he said and she nodded approvingly. Dan realised there had been forces behind his dad’s stilted half-apology, working behind the scenes for months now: Adrian’s protection, Mum’s intent gaze, Gran’s calm steadiness. Like snow sliding away, a roadblock somewhere in his soul cleared up. “I love you,” he said. “And I think I’m ready to write something of value.”

“I love you too, Dan,” Gran said, easy as anything. “And I’ll watch it.”

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Phil was waiting at the train station. He had a jean jacket on and he smiled as soon as he saw Dan dragging his suitcase out through the gates. It was the same one Dan tried his very best to coax out and was only now realising he hadn’t had to try quite so hard.

Phil asked, “Are you ready?” His eyes, steady and lovely, were searching.

“Yes,” Dan said. “Are you?”

Whatever Phil had been looking for in Dan’s eyes, he seemed to have found it, because he said, “Let’s go home,” taking the handle of Dan’s suitcase in one hand and Dan’s hand in the other.

* * *

ACT ONE

As the curtain rises a young boy, dressed in purple overalls, is playing with his doll in the grass. Behind him his mother, dressed in a white shirt and dungarees, is sitting on a lawn chair and sipping tea. Both their heads turn as they hear doors slamming in the house, signifying JOE’S return home from work…

THEA [quickly]: Well, now. You’d better put that away. 

[She pushes herself from the chair and disappears into the home with an easy grace; JACOB watches her go, and looks down at the doll.]

* * *

_ The End _

  
  



End file.
